


Mark of a slave

by Cirilla9



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Bondage, Ownership, Slavery, There's A Tag For That, angsty fluff, for this show it's zero level violence, ivar means well but it isn't working
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 06:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: Just harassing Heahmund a little...





	Mark of a slave

**Author's Note:**

> It is better than how it seems at the beginning  
> ...though not necessarily in Heahmund's opinion

It was humiliating enough to be the Viking’s plaything, led by the chains through the village to general amusement of the heathens. But to be a slave to a spoiled child who get excited at the sight of the spill of blood, one of the heathens Heahmund so detested? A child who lacked basic  discipline? Why couldn’t his captor be someone who could really master him, force him into obedience so it could fall straight unto Bible’s verses ‘slaves obey thy masters’? No, instead it was a boy barely into manhood that treated Heahmund more as a toy than a slave. For all Heahmund knew now he was Ivar's amusement, distraction, an interesting creature captured into foreign lands. He had a feeling the pagan would act much the same with a captured bear. The bishop started to suspect it was God’s punishment for his sin of pride.

Heahmund had always lacked humility, he was always a natural leader, not someone who submits. Even as he knelt before kings, it hardly looked compliant; all the more he wasn’t going to cower before these savages. The only master he had ever truly bowed to was his God.

So now he walked with his back straightened, chin raised high and eyes locked on the heaven above his abusers’ heads. He held himself proudly despite all the mocks from the crowd, all the reviles they spat at him.

He had no idea what was their destination.

When he saw the wooden contraption they clearly intended to bond him to, he thought it was to be his end. So he wrung out of his captors’ grip and fought them, determined to atone his life dearly.

\- God reigneth over the heathens! – he cried out, using his iron cuffs to strike the guard closest to him.

More enemies quickly surrounded him and he opposed them as well with all his might, though disadvantaged in numbers and weapons. He hit arms reaching him, not only dodging but trying to cause as much harm to the heathens as he currently was able to.

Soon he noticed something was not right. More hands extended his way but no one grabbed for hatchets or swords yet. There was no battle rage in the heathens’ eyes, most of them seemed rather amused by all the turmoil he was causing.

 Finally they got him again, too many palms held him in place. The careless laugh pierced the air.

\- Christian, I thought you were ready to die for your faith! – said Ivar, smiling brightly.

Heahmund send him a vicious glare but did not answer to his taunts. He will not let himself be provoked. If he was to die, he will do so with dignity.

Ivar gestured to his men and called out something in their language and they dragged Heahmund to the pole. Once there, the man with white hair, built like a giant, at least head taller from the rest of the crowd, pulled him from behind by his shoulders, till his back hit the wood.

Ivar barked another order and other warriors tore Heahmund’s shirt off, ripping it in half. Then tying with the rope followed, binds so tightly surrounded his chest and arms he could barely move. The rope was holding him only in the strategic points so to make him immobile but expose as much skin as possible.

It all looked like preparation to torture and Heahmund couldn’t help but remember all signs of the Northmen’s atrocities he had witnesses: king Ecbert’s body pushed into the barrow; king Aella’s corps hanging with his ribs wrung out like a terrible mockery of an angel’s wings; the bishop of York mouth’s filled with congealed gold.

Ivar limped toward him, stopping at a step’s distance. The hand that wasn’t clutching the crutches was put to Heahmund’s chest, over his heart, beating faster from adrenaline and recent fight and anger.

\- Do you fear to die? – Ivar asked playfully, that same glint was in his eyes that appeared there every time the psycho watched death.

Heahmund wasn't afraid to die for his faith but he would prefer it in a battle, with a sword in his hand and a name of God on his mouth. Being a scourge of heathens instead of the object of their fun. He spat at the heathen’s leering face.

The hand slid from his chest, as Ivar wiped his face, looking annoyed but not truly angry, still smirking.

\- I take that as a no.

Another strap was added to limit Heahmund’s movements, this time encircling his forehead and immobilizing his head so he could look only straight ahead; where the Viking still stood and talked conversationally.

\- Good. You’re a good warrior. But you won’t die, at least not today.

Then he switched to Norse and apparently gave his people command to continue whatever torture they’ve planned for Heahmund, if his next words were to be any indication.

\- Now don’t trash too much or you’ll ruin it, - he said to Heahmund, smiling mischievously. Heahmund didn’t like his smug expression. He wanted to ask what that meant but he didn’t want to give the boy the satisfaction this question would elicit.

Ivar retreated to make space for another Viking, carrying some tools Heahmund hadn’t seen before. Despite anticipated pain, all Heahmund felt at the other’s touch were gentle moist lines traced upon his breastbone, as if the man was painting something on his chest. Heahmund couldn’t see what. All he saw was the Viking carrying on his ministrations and, above his shoulder, Ivar who perched at a platform close in front of them, watching Heahmund intently.

The man that was tending to the bishop changed his working tools out of Heahmund’s restricted line of sight. That was when the pain came finally but it wasn’t anything extreme; just little prickling as if someone was stabbing him with a needle over and over.

The crowd around begun to drift away, maybe disappointed at prisoner’s lack of screams. Only Ivar didn’t lose interest even for a moment. His blue eyes still held that disquieting hungry look and Heahmund was forced to take part in their staring contest.

Only as the other Viking finished whatever he was doing, Ivar’s eyes slid to Heahmund’s chest, admiring the other’s work. Heahmund clenched his jaw at being treated as an exhibition and not even able to see for himself what they’ve done to him.

The other Viking took up a cloth to wet it in the bucket full of water but before he could put it to Heahmund’s chest, Ivar limped toward them, taking the rag himself and sending the other away with an impatient gesture. Heahmund realized now there was just the two of them in the middle of the village, the rest of the gathered folk returned to their daily tasks.

Ivar begun to wise the prisoner’s torso, with too much gentleness and way too much interest for Heahmund’s liking. Bound as he was, though, there wasn’t much he could do about it, whether to avoid the touch or push the other’s hand away.

\- It’s perfect, - whispered Ivar, looking up at him and Heahmund wasn’t sure what was he talking about. He didn’t ask for clarification.

After Ivar was done – and Heahmund could swear he prolonged whatever he was doing to humiliate him further – the young Viking indicated for his man to take care of Heahmund once more. No sooner the bishop was unbound from the pole than his chest became wrapped with a bandage.

He received a sharp rebuke to not pick at it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He acted contrary to the order as soon as his bonds were taken off. In the privacy of his own room – or cell, considering it was locked – left alone, with his wrist still shackled together, he tore at the dressing until he revealed the bare skin of his chest. It was reddened from the executed ministrations but the worst thing was the painting… no, not the painting, Heahmund realized with dread. It didn’t get off as he rubbed at it experimentally.

For at his skin the terrible profanation of a cross was tattooed. It had the holy shape but it was filled with writhing snakes, pagan demons as those serpents adoring Ivar’s chariot.

At his shout of chagrin, the doors to the room sprang open and Ivar appeared there. If Heahmund had looked up, he would notice concern in the Viking’s eyes before it was replaced by the usual insolent smirk as soon as Ivar took in the situation in front of him.

\- I told you not to tamper with it, - the boy scolded. – Now we’ll have to wrap it up again, otherwise it could get infected. But since you’ve taken a look already and spoiled yourself a surprise, what do you think about it?

Heahmund glanced up at the infuriatingly innocent blue eyes.

\- What have you done to me?

In the boy’s eyes something akin to disappointment flashed.

\- Don’t you like it? It’s your cross. Well, with my sigil of course, couldn't have you belong to your god only. This is a mark of ownership but look how generous I am: I share you with your beloved god while I could keep you all for myself.


End file.
